


Cold Love

by unsaidesires



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Comedy, Fluff, Gay, Hurt, M/M, Male/Male, Romance, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 16:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4528626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsaidesires/pseuds/unsaidesires
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[JeanMarco] Modern!AU where Marco is the cute neighbor who moves into the vacant apartment next to Jean. Jean, sadly, is pretty much a lazy college student who prefers the safe haven of his house than the warm bustling city outside. Guess he's waking up earlier now just to see Marco water his plants and hang out his laundry. Before he knew it, he's pretty much head over heels over the cutie, and, well, very gay. However, after he gets to know more about Marco, unforeseen circumstances take place and Jean realizes he landed himself into something he will probably never be able to get out of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Love

**Author's Note:**

> After eons and eons and eons of not writing (and only planning and groaning over unfinished fics), I finally squeezed something out at 2 in the morning, when all the ideas and good (satisfactory) writing starts to flow through the very core of my exhausted body, which is also coincidentally the time when I should be snoring away. This is just a short, introductory chapter. And yes, judging from the tags, this is going to be a long and wild journey. (it's long because I'll take another few eons to complete the second chapter) And yes, it's a sad, fluffy fic. Don't try and stop me.

Jean painstakingly shifted to another position, which he swore he already tried a few minutes ago. He knew it wasn't the sofa's fault, but he couldn't help blaming it as he placed his leg in another feasible position and his elbow in another.

His hands, however, were occupied by his playstation controller. His thumbs darted around quickly while his eyes remained focused on the screen.

The air in the living room was, needless to say, pretty tense and still, until Jean suddenly breaks the atmosphere when he got up during a save point in the game, groaning.

"Ugh, _God!_ Why the hell is it so hot in here?" He walked over to the curtains that were supposed to cover the windows during late morning, but weren't. Before he frustratedly drew the curtains, he took a glance at the world outside.

He mumbled to no one in particular with tinges of respect and disagreement lumped together as he looked out at the bustling street, "Man, how do people even survive under that blistering heat? Geez."

He scanned the area one last time quickly, briefly taking note of a truck with the name "House Movers" printed on its side in a big white font, parked just diagonally outside his front gate.

 _Someone's moving over?_ He thought as he eagerly walked back to the sofa. _Hm, come to think of it, next door's vacant..._

He swept the fresh thoughts out of his mind and stuffed them in the 'Pending' drawer of his mind when he slumped back onto the soft cushion of the sofa and back into his comfort playing zone. _I'll bother about it later,_ he thought.

After he completed another mission, Jean swore — again — that he initially planned to play Grand Theft Auto 5 for just an hour and a half, but a closer look at the clock again rendered him shocked.

It was twelve minutes past four in the afternoon, and _poof,_ there went all the plans he had made for that day, if he remembered making _any_ , that is.

He put the controller down and realized his fingers were all numb and drained. Groaning softly, he pushed himself off the sofa to stand up and at least stretch a little. He's been in the school mood pretty much only until yesterday, which was finally the last day of school. Thank god his mother didn't pressure him to attend cram school over the summer. Thank God. He forgot the last time he played video games for hours on end. As he lifted his arms above his head, he could feel himself breaking at least six bones and cracking another eight.

"Holy cheese," he muttered his breath, as he exhaled and shook his joints clumsily. It was only then when the after-effects hit him. He yawned and felt a sharp pain in his neck, and before he could plaster his hand onto the back of his neck, mild dizziness smacked him in the head. He almost collapsed. "Holy _cheese,"_ he repeated, now with pain stinging his voice.

He slowly and cautiously — so as to not break any more bones — walked to the curtains which he seemed to have drawn just a few minutes ago, remembering the House Movers all of a sudden. I mean, it's not like he actually _really_ cared about having a new neighbor. The previous neighbors were pretty nice. They used to send him boxes of cookies whenever they made too many. Well, too bad they left. He hoped they're somewhere better off now, and not beside some college guy who lives off video games (and occasionally their cookies) during the summer vacation. At least now someone else will be blessed with the presence of their homemade cookies. Who doesn't like homemade cookies, anyway?

 _Anyway,_ back to the topic at hand. Literally at hand, actually. Jean's fingers just _touched_ the soft curtains when the doorbell rang.

"Aw, don't leave me hanging..." He said to no one in particular. _Ah, no pun intended,_ he somewhat scoffed in his head as he made his way to the door.

For some reason, he didn't even bother looking through the peephole before opening the door, which was something he would probably come to regret later on — and also something he would think back on and cringe in embarrassment.

He pulled the door open without hesitating. Where in the world did he get so confident, though? Okay, anyway, he pulled open the door like he was expecting an old friend. Of course, there's no way an old friend would pop up without an invitation.

Instead, standing in front of him was a man who was about as tall as he was, grinning somewhat sheepishly from ear to ear, dressed in a T-shirt and faded jeans and...

 _Oh_ dang, _he's freaking cute._

Jean almost — _almost —_ said that out loud. Almost. So close. It almost slid off the tip of his tongue. He had to take a small step back, which he hoped the other man didn't notice, to push the words back down his suddenly-dry-as-the-Sahara-Desert throat. Yet, in his mind, all he's thinking was, "Oh sweet lord, how can someone look so cute?"

The black-haired man at the door hadn't even opened his mouth to say a single word yet, and Jean was already in such a huge mess.

"Good afternoon," the man started. Jean almost gasped out loud. "S-Sorry if I disturbed you... Uh, I just wanted to tell you that— no, inform you that I'll be living next door from today onwards."

 _By all means,_ Jean thought to himself. _Just go ahead, please._

As if running out of things to say at a speech, the man looked away, mentally searching for words deep in the cupboards of his mind to say. Jean, at this moment, at this _instant_ , knew he had to say something. Anything. Anything to help the poor (and cute) fellow get rid of this awkward atmosphere he accidentally landed himself into.

_Come on, Jean, now's not the time to lose the ability to speak!_

_"_ Ah, good afternoon. I'm— it's really nice to meet you. I'm, uh, really looking forward to having you around in the future!" Jean paused and mentally slapped himself. _Goddammit, Jean Kirschtein, how awkward can you get?!_

 _"_ I'm Jean. Jean Kirschtein. What's yours?" Jean beamed — tried to, at least, as he spoke as politely as he could.

Suddenly void of all fears, like how the sky clears after a long, hard downpour, the other man's face lit up as his grin grew wider and he replied, "Marco! My name's Marco. Marco Bodt. It's really nice to meet you!"

At this point, even before Marco's name registered itself into Jean's brain, all Jean could think was, "Oooh no... Oh, you did _not_ just smile like the sun rising to a new day. That was _such_ a pretty smile. That was— and oh god, those eyes. Those. Eyes. They look like _black diamonds._ I cannot believe—"

And after his name registers, it became, "Marco? Marco? Marco's such a nice name, I'm going to _melt_ into a puddle. And— and are those freckles? _Shit,_ they look like stars in a night sky."

He quickly snapped back, knowing that he had to at least get himself together and stop all that sudden poetic shit first then freak out later.

 _Get your shit together, Jean!_ He screamed at himself in his head.

"Uhh... I-It's really nice to meet you!" Jean stuttered, and mentally slapped himself again. He _cannot_ believe he just repeated that.

"Same here!" Marco bowed a little. "Ah, I-I'll be going back to... Next door, so, if you need anything, just knock on my door."

"Sure!" Jean blurted out way too quickly.

With that, Marco politely retreated back to his house and Jean closed the door as naturally as he could. His hands and legs were trembling, blood pumped with hot adrenaline, as the door closed behind him and he almost dropped to his knees. He leaned back against his door and clenched his fists.

His heart was beating furiously, like he just finished a five kilometer run. _Sweet macaroons,_ he thought. Not just his heart, his stomach was tightening with tiny butterflies as he thought about the next time he will see the cutie. He couldn't wait.

To think that Jean — _Jean Kirschtein_ — actually looked forward to seeing someone. In the twenty-odd years of his life, he had never once been so excited to see someone. Heck, not even Mikasa. Sometimes, he might even think himself as someone who's apathetic, which was of course false. But now, look, just look at Jean. Look at how he's all flustered after just one short introductory conversation with a cute person. Unbelievable, you're unbelievable, Jean.

After a few seconds of dramatic inhaling and exhaling, he went over to his television to switch off the still-running console and keep his controller. Guess he won't be playing any more later in the day. He'd probably be too busy.

Busy doing what, exactly?

He went upstairs to his bedroom where the balcony stood out proudly under the setting sun. Despite having a neat-looking, somewhat sophisticated balcony, Jean rarely uses it. Actually, he doesn't even bother drawing the curtains. He isn't kind enough to let the sun throw its piercing rays into his cozy crib. The sun can — should — keep its rays to itself. Even when the previous neighbors were still around, he _only_ occasionally takes a step out onto the balcony to get some proper fresh air. This was all there is to it. He didn't particularly fancy such a balcony, nor did he take it for granted.

Besides, he would be able to make good use of it starting today.

Really good use.


End file.
